


Sometimes When We Touch

by DelilahMcMuffin



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5+1 Things, Illicit back-room handjobs, Introspection, It's Milk...For Your Body, Lots of Big Feelings, M/M, Patrick is really really attracted to David Rose, Patrick's gay awakening, Pining, Self-Discovery, Shoulder Appreciation Hours, Soft boys being soft, Stevie never fucking helps, Thigh Appreciation Hours, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 12:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30055290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelilahMcMuffin/pseuds/DelilahMcMuffin
Summary: Five times Patrick hasa lotof thoughts about touching David. And one time he doesn't overthink it.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 29
Kudos: 268





	Sometimes When We Touch

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, the title is from a cheesy song that will get stuck in your head all damn day. But I went there and I will not apologize. Because you know what? Sometimes the honesty really is too much.
> 
> From _Sometimes When We Touch_ by Dan Hill.

**1**

  
  


So that’s David Rose. 

Looking back, Patrick realizes he had not been at all prepared. Ray called his name, and suddenly there was this man standing in front of him, handing over a little ticket stub and shaking his hand.

Patrick feels David’s hand in his long after their handshake is over. And even after David leaves in what can only be described as a huff, Patrick’s fingers are still thrumming from the feel of those long, elegant fingers and that soft palm against his. He looks down at his hand. It doesn’t look any different. Four fingers and a thumb. Fingertips calloused and that scar along the soft mound at the base of his thumb from when he’d cut himself with an exacto knife when he was eight. 

It’s the same hand he had before David Rose came into his life, but...it doesn’t _feel_ the same. There’s a tingling now. An itch, or maybe a longing, to feel that other hand in his again. David’s hand is so different from his own. Bigger, strong and firm. But somehow also delicate. And so, so soft. Patrick wants to shake David’s hand again, because he has _never_ felt anything like that before.

At lunch, Patrick makes a cup of tea and sits at Ray’s kitchen table, the warmth from the mug spreading through his fingers. The mug is hard and unyielding. David’s hand had been supple and smooth. When he gets back to his desk, he has another appointment lined up, and the man’s handshake is...there’s really nothing wrong with it. It’s just anticlimactic, after David Rose. His grip is too weak, his fingers a little too limp, his palm almost clammy. Patrick has to stop himself from wiping his hand on his jeans. He can’t afford to offend new clients. 

In the afternoon, he goes to the post office and runs a few errands. He’s in the middle of the cereal aisle in Brebner’s when he realizes he forgot his phone. It’s not a big deal. No one calls him anyway, except his mom. And she only calls after six, when she knows she won’t be interrupting him at work. He’s given out a handful of business cards in the weeks he’s been in town, but has yet to have a single client call him. 

It’ll be fine.

There are _eight_ voicemails when he gets back to Ray’s. And they’re all from one number.

He picks up his phone and keys in his voicemail code, and as David Rose’s voice stumbles and bumbles his way through a series of increasingly frantic and discombobulated messages, the tingling in Patrick’s hand is back. He curls his fingers tight, pressing his nails into his palm. The sting as they bite into his skin is a revelation. A shiver runs down his spine and something deep inside him sparks, a tiny flame. A pilot light, maybe. The beginning of what could turn into a fire, if he lets it. He’s not sure he should let it.

He really wants to let it.

Patrick listens to David’s voicemails more times than he cares to admit. The first time doesn’t count, he tells himself. So it’s not weird. It’s not _that_ weird.

It’s maybe a little weird.

He tells himself he’s amused by David. David is amusing. The way his mind works is so unlike anyone Patrick has ever met. And he’s so unabashedly himself, which Patrick admires. And he’s tall and dark and handsome and...oh.

_Oh._

Patrick rolls that thought around in his mind. David is handsome. Objectively, David is a handsome man. Maybe...maybe even beautiful. He thinks about that word, and he thinks about David, and he thinks that yes. David Rose is a beautiful man. With soft hands that Patrick now realizes he has been thinking about for the better part of his day. And the only thing he can think now is that he wants to touch David’s hand again. And again. Just to see, for purely observational purposes, whether it was just that first touch. Maybe it was static electricity. Or maybe touching David a second time, or a third, will result in that same, bone-deep tingling that has been sparking beneath Patrick’s skin all day. 

And then, as he’s leaning over Ray’s dining room table going over some paperwork, he hears the soft sound of a throat being cleared. He turns and can’t help the smile that spreads wide across his face when he sees that it’s David standing there, his ruined application form clutched tightly in those beautiful, glorious hands. 

  
  


**2**

  
  


So far, Patrick has managed to curb his desire to see David again. So maybe he’s adjusted his mid-morning walking route so it takes him past the old General Store. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s good for him to get to know the town centre a little better, familiarize himself with local businesses. Especially new local businesses with proprietors who have soft, amazing hands and dark eyes that Patrick wants to gaze into for hours and hours and hours. And so maybe he sits on the patio outside the cafe and enjoys a tea while he nods politely at the locals who stroll by, and in doing so, gives himself the chance to stealthily watch David as he arranges and rearranges the displays in the front window of what is soon to be Rose Apothecary.

He’s been working up his nerve all week. David’s business licence came in on Monday and he promised himself he’d deliver it by Friday. He’d even driven to Elmdale for a new frame and he has to admit, he’s pretty pleased with the sleek silver frame he’s chosen. And here it is, Thursday afternoon—a whole day ahead of his self-imposed deadline—and he’s walking up to the door of David’s store, he’s got his hand on the knob, he’s pushing open the door and the little bell is jingling over his head. And then he’s being accosted by a chatty, flirty blonde woman who says she’s David’s sister and life coach, and who has wrapped a beautiful but very itchy scarf around his neck, the knot just a little tighter than is comfortable. And that’s when David comes out of the back room and tells Patrick to take off the cat hair scarf (oh Jesus. He’s going to have to chug a bottle of Benadryl when he gets home) while glaring daggers at his sister.

He manages to hide his disappointment when David declares that the frame he’d spent so much time choosing is “too corporate” for his brand. There’s some light bickering between the siblings, and Patrick finds himself and Alexis being very soundly told off—deservedly so, in Patrick’s opinion—for doubting David and his business model. And then somehow, he finds himself being volunteered by Alexis to help carry boxes out from the back room. Which he is happy to do if it means more time spent here, with David. And Alexis, who is still hovering uncomfortably close. When he squeezes past David to get to the boxes in the back, he’s struck by how tall he is, and how broad. He’s not sure how he missed it during their first meeting, but now that he’s noticed, he can’t stop noticing. 

David is wearing a sweater with a baseball on the front, of all things, which makes Patrick smile. It looks soft, and as Patrick begins to unpack the boxes from the back room out on the front table, he gets a feel of the fabric when David reaches over him to grab the stack of labels, his sleeve brushing against the bare skin of Patrick’s forearm. 

They stand, shoulder to shoulder, unpacking and labelling and talking. David’s voice is like music, lilting and melodic. His excitement about the store is infectious, and so are his nerves.

When they’re done with the first box, Alexis flits over to them, now that she’s no longer in danger of actually being asked to help with any manual labour, and hops up on the edge of the table beside Patrick. She flutters flirtatious little touches all over him, his shoulders, his hand. He doesn’t want to be rude, so he doesn’t snatch his hand away or take a step back from her perch, although he wants to. It’s becoming more and more clear to him that, despite her stunning good looks and obvious interest in him, Alexis is not the Rose sibling he wants to be touching him. As Alexis gets more and more brazen—grabbing his bicep, running a finger down the exposed line of his forearm—Patrick feels David tense beside him, finally excusing himself to the back room to collect another box. 

Alexis hops off the table, making up an excuse to leave before David comes back out, threatening her with more work. Before she leaves, she reaches out and touches a delicate finger to the tip of Patrick’s nose. “You’re such a little button, Patrick,” she chirps before batting her eyes at him and flouncing out the front door, her perfume lingering long after the bell above the door stops jingling. When David returns, he positions himself a little farther away, leaving a gap between them when he joins Patrick at the table again. They continue to unpack and label, but Patrick feels the distance between them and he isn’t entirely sure what to do about it. 

He doesn’t get much sleep that night. His mind is buzzing with thoughts of David, about those broad shoulders beneath that soft sweater. About his elusive smile. But even in his fantasies, Alexis is there, shimmying her way in between them and Patrick finds himself growing increasingly frustrated, his attempts to get closer to David obstructed even by his own mind. 

When it becomes clear that sleep is just not in the cards for him, he begins to run numbers in his head, and he comes to the conclusion that David is going to need more money. He spends the next hour looking up provincial and federal grants that could help the store, and David. And as he jots down pages and pages of notes, an idea starts to form. It’s risky, and maybe just a little bit ballsy. And it’s something that Patrick from only a week ago would never have dreamed of doing, not in a million years. But Patrick from a week ago had not yet met the tantalizing enigma that is David Rose. 

He goes over his notes, drawing up a proposal that he wants to present to David. A proposal that would plant Patrick firmly in his orbit for the foreseeable future. As he types it up, he realizes that it’s too formal. Everything so far with David has been so fluid, so natural. Yes, he wants to impress David, but emailing him this very intimidating-looking multi-page document with charts and graphs isn’t going to win him any points with David. He sighs and closes his laptop. He’s going to have to do this in person. 

His morning appointments seem to drag on, and Patrick struggles to stay focused. But it’s hard to concentrate on Mr. Harrison’s back taxes when all he wants to do is see David again. Finally, lunch rolls around and he tells Ray he’s heading out, and then he walks the few blocks toward the centre of town. As he rounds the corner and the old General Store comes into view, Patrick has a brief moment of panic. What if Alexis is there again? He shakes his head and tells himself that even if she is there, he’s on a mission to see David. He’ll have to gently but firmly make it clear that he’s not there to see her.

As it turns out, David seems to share his fears. 

“My sister isn’t here,” he says, his voice betraying his nerves. 

“I’m not here for your sister,” Patrick replies, hoping he sounds more certain than he feels. His insides are all twisted and he kind of feels like he wants to throw up. He wonders if that’s normal. It’s not a feeling he’s accustomed to. He’s usually a pretty confident guy, but being around David makes him feel like he just can’t quite catch his breath. 

“Okay,” David says in a whisper. And Patrick can’t help but notice the way his mouth moves, his full lips curving so gently around the word. He wants to touch them. With his fingers. And then with his lips. And...wow. That’s a lot. Patrick has never felt that before, the nearly overpowering urge to kiss another person. He’s kissed people before, obviously. Rachel, for starters. Other girls. But he’s never felt _compelled_ to do it before. Never yearned for it.

David is looking at him now, waiting to find out why Patrick is here, if not for his sister. So Patrick pulls himself together as best he can and launches into his pitch, offering his services and partnership in exchange for putting together those grant applications. He even goes so far as to promise David that he’ll “get the money,” which earns him another breathy “okay,” that makes his knees wobble. And then they shake on it, and the tingle that Patrick has been waiting to feel again for five whole days is there when he closes his fingers around David’s. And by the way his dark eyes widen, even if only for a second, Patrick is fairly certain that David felt it too.

  
  


**3**

  
  
  


“What do we think Body Milk is, if not _milk...for your body?”_

Patrick has been replaying those words and the ridiculous shimmy that accompanied them in his mind all afternoon. Because now, the only thing he can think about is David applying said body milk to his own body, one long, tanned leg bent, his foot resting on the lip of the tub, as he carefully massages it into his skin. Patrick has always been a detail-oriented guy, and right now, his brain is tormenting him with minute details, like the way he imagines the hair on David’s legs glistening, swirling along with the motion of his hands as they work their way up from his ankle. Or maybe down from his thigh. In his mind, David pays careful attention to his arms, his chest. Patrick has noticed the hair on his forearms is thick and dark, and he can picture how it might look, carrying on up his arms. Maybe he has a hairy chest. Maybe there’s a line of that same dark hair leading down his chest, over his belly, disappearing into his—

“Um, you know those don’t go in the fridge, right?”

“Huh?” 

Patrick blinks at Stevie who is grinning at him like she knows something he doesn’t. Or, more accurately, like she knows something he doesn’t want her to know. He looks down at the bottle in his hand—the bottle of body milk he had been about to put into the fridge where they keep their cheese, juice and tapenade—and he can feel the heat rising on his face, like an old mercury thermometer, until it reaches his hairline.

“Oh. Yeah, um...sorry. Just wasn’t paying attention, I guess,” he mutters, turning and sheepishly returning the bottle to the display on the central tables that David had set up earlier. 

“Mmm. Something on your mind?” Stevie asks, a knowing twinkle in her eye. 

“No,” Patrick replies, maybe a little too quickly, judging by the way Stevie’s eyes widen and a smile that he can only describe as predatory spreads over her face. “Just, um. You know. The store. There’s still a lot to do.”

“Yes. There _is_ a lot to do,” Stevie agrees with a level of sincerity that is just this side of too much to be genuine. She’s looking at him now like a shark that’s caught the scent of blood in the water. It’s ridiculous, but Patrick can almost hear the _Dah dum. Da dum. Da Dum_ of John Williams’ iconic score as she comes closer and picks up the bottle Patrick had just set down on the table. “You know, as co-owner of this store, don’t you think it would be a good idea to sample all of your products?” she suggests, like she’s trying to be helpful. She’s not trying to be helpful. She grins at him, then turns to call over her shoulder. “Hey, David?”

“What?” David’s disembodied voice floats through the half-open curtain separating the storage room from the storefront.

“Patrick was wondering if he could sample the body milk,” Stevie says, swivelling her attention back to Patrick. He feels like a bug under a magnifying glass, like Stevie can see all of him, all the things he’s feeling, every thought in his head. To be fair, the only thought in his head right now is still stuck on David applying lotion to his entire naked body. But still. He doesn’t want Stevie to know that.

David emerges from the storage room, a box filled with small glass bottles that tinkle against one another as he carries them over to the table and sets them down carefully. “I mean, sure?”

“For the store,” Stevie helpfully elaborates. “He needs to be able to sell people these products. He should know how they work, right?”

David nods thoughtfully. “No, yeah. That’s a good point. Here,” he says, picking up a bottle of body milk that’s set off to the side of the display. “Alexis has practically sampled half the bottle, so we can’t sell it.” He hands it to Patrick, and their fingers brush. That now-familiar tingle shoots up Patrick’s fingers, up his arm, warming him from the inside out. He’s sure he’s blushing from head to toe now, just from that all-too-brief touch.

With Stevie and David watching his every move like a pair of overzealous hawks, he carefully unscrews the lid and pours some onto his hand. It comes out much faster than he thought it would—it really is the exact consistency of milk. _For his body._ He sets the bottle and the lid down on the counter and begins to rub his hands together, hoping that it’s not obvious to either of his onlookers just how badly his hands are shaking, when David squawks in protest and grabs Patrick’s wrists between his own, larger hands.

“Oh my God. What are you doing? It’s not fucking Lubriderm, or whatever off-brand, drugstore abomination you use at home!” he chastises as he scoops up some of the excess lotion from Patrick’s palm and begins rubbing it into Patrick’s skin. “You don’t just slather it on like some Neaderthal. Small circles,” he instructs, demonstrating with his own fingers on the back of Patrick’s hand. “Small and firm. You really want to work it in, but also give it time to absorb properly. Trust me, it’s worth the extra time.” 

Patrick’s hands feel like they’re on fire, but it’s not from the body milk. The body milk feels amazing, slick and silky, but not wet or tacky. It’s David. _David_ is setting Patrick’s nerve endings on fire, with his gentle but firm circles, working their way from the backs of his wrists until he’s tugging gently on each of Patrick’s fingers in turn, working the body milk into the cracks and crevices of his knuckles, all the while monologuing about the importance of proper skin care. Which...Patrick really should be listening. Because David’s skin is so, so soft. Velvety and warm. And perfect. He obviously knows what he’s talking about. 

He begins to work some of the excess body milk up past Patrick’s wrists, along the delicate skin of his inner forearm. He continues with those slow, small circles until he reaches the cuff of Patrick’s shirt, where he’s rolled up his sleeves to just below his elbows. He wishes that he’d worn something else today, a t-shirt with short sleeves, or a tank top—or nothing at all—so David could keep going, going, going, all the way up his arms. Maybe he’d dip his fingers under the sleeve of the t-shirt, maybe go all the way up to his shoulders. God, that would be amazing. David’s hands on his bare shoulders, at the nape of his neck, running down his spine, or up into his hair...

“There you go,” David says with a smile, giving Patrick’s biceps a gentle squeeze through the thick fabric of his pale blue button down. _Tomorrow._ Tomorrow Patrick is going to buy a pack of t-shirts from Canadian Tire. 

Patrick smiles his thanks, skimming the fingers of one hand over the baby-soft skin of his other hand. Despite its misnomer (Patrick still thinks that people are going to be confused by the whole _milk_ thing), his skin has never felt better. His skin feels like David’s. Well, maybe not quite that good. David has obviously been doing some serious moisturizing for a very long time for his hands to feel like _that._ But...Patrick’s hands feel like Rachel’s, after she’d put on her nighttime skin cream. Her hands were always cracking in the winter. He wonders if he should send her some products from the store, as a kind of peace offering. But he shoves that idea aside. That would require talking to her, and he’s not sure either of them is ready for that just yet.

He watches as David carefully screws the lid back onto the bottle, then sets it on the counter. “Um, we can’t sell that one now, because of Alexis. So...why don’t you take it home with you? For um, you know. Research purposes.”

“Ooh. _Research purposes,_ Patrick,” Stevie chimes in, nudging him with her elbow and looking delighted. Patrick startles. He’d honestly forgotten she was still there. His attention had been so caught up in the...in the _David_ of it all. When he looks at her, she winks—or at least she tries to—a horrible, knowing thing that says she knows exactly how that body milk will be put to use if he takes it home.

Patrick clears his throat. “Um, I mean, we could use it as a tester here,” he says, appalled at how gruff his voice sounds.

“No, I already have one marked as a tester,” David says with a wave of his hand. “If you don’t want it, I’ll just give it to Alexis.” He looks up sharply. “Do you not like it? Is it...was it not good?”

“Oh no,” Patrick backtracks, because he did like it. He liked it so much. Too much—the whole, immersive experience.

“Yeah, I’d say he _really_ liked it,” Stevie says to David. “He should definitely take it home.” She picks up the bottle from the counter. “Oh, hey! David, you could write it off!”

David narrows his eyes at her. “You know I know that’s not how it works now, right?”

“It’s fine. I’ll just damage it out of our stock,” Patrick says, snatching the bottle from Stevie’s evil clutches and heading into the back to tuck it away in his bag.

“When you get it home, remember; it doesn’t go in the fridge,” David calls after him.

“Yeah, I know,” Patrick grumbles and rolls his eyes. He pulls up the stock spreadsheet on his laptop on the desk in the back and carefully marks out one bottle of body milk under the “damaged” column. Then he saves the spreadsheet before snapping his laptop closed again. He places the body milk in the outer pocket of his bag. Despite Stevie’s lascivious teasing, has a pretty good idea that it will end up on his bedside table when he gets home. 

And if he’s already got an image cued up in his mind for when he tests out the body milk on other parts of his own body, well. He’ll chalk it up to market research.  
  


**4**

  
  


The store is open. Well, not now, obviously. David has just locked the door behind their last customer on their opening day. But they are now officially open for business (even though, technically, they’re closed).

Patrick has learned over the last few weeks working alongside David that his very favourite thing in the entire world is to tease David. Actually, he’d learned that during their very first meeting, that day back in Ray’s office. But he’s honed his craft since then, fine tuning it until he knows exactly how to get under David’s skin, get him flustered. Because there is absolutely nothing more stunning than a slightly flustered and ruffled David Rose.

The other day was a perfect case-in-point. David asking for “his” juice back, and the whole conversation devolving into a discussion about sloppy and clean mouths. The look on David’s face as Patrick wandered off with the juice still firmly in hand while informing David that _he_ was the one with the sloppy mouth had been priceless, and Patrick had gone home that night and jerked off the moment he was alone in his room. Then again in the shower, and once more when he was in bed later that night. 

But now, their soft launch (another conversation that had sent him in search of a little one-on-one private time with his dick) was over, and things had gone off without a hitch. And they were officially in business. He was officially in business with David Rose, who had dressed for the occasion in a sweater that was much tighter than anything Patrick had seen him in before, and pants that clung to him like a second skin, like he had been sewn into them, the way they clung to the curve of his perfect ass, his long legs. They’d been so busy since opening the doors that morning, but it had done nothing to quench the thirst for David that had been building in Patrick all day. And now that they’re finally alone, he wants to touch David, but he needs to do it without making it weird. He thinks that maybe asking his business partner flat out if he can just kind of...feel him up might make things weird.

So he pushes himself off the front counter and opens his arms, offering a hug. It’s not weird for business partners to hug, right? A congratulatory embrace on a job well done is completely normal and not at all a testament to his desperate desire for David. The moment hangs just a fraction of a second too long, Patrick standing there like an idiot with his arms open. But then David takes a tentative step forward, closing the distance between them, and then he’s pulling Patrick into his arms and their entire bodies are pressed together and God. If Patrick were to die tomorrow, he could die a happy man. Because David is so solid, so much firmer and more substantial than Patrick had dared to dream. He can feel the swell of his surprisingly defined pecs against his chest, and Patrick finally gets to feel those shoulders beneath his hands and they’re so strong and he can feel David’s muscles moving beneath his skin and its...Jesus. It’s so much better than he had ever imagined. 

And he smells so good. Like that cedar cologne they carry, with hints of citrus and smoke. Patrick wants to bury his face right there, in the soft curve of David’s neck, wants to feel his pulse throbbing against his lips, and the bite of his stubble on the soft, delicate skin of Patrick’s cheek. He knows he would love it, not only because he knows now that this is what he wants—a man in his arms, pressed body to body—but because he knows this is _who_ he wants. He wants David. Every glorious inch of him.

He can feel David’s hands roaming across his shoulder blades and he wonders, does he feel the same? Probably not. David is so smart and beautiful and worldly, he could literally have anyone. And Patrick is just...he’s just him. Just Patrick. Just a small town business major with a massive crush on his business partner.

David’s arms tighten around him, and for a moment, Patrick forgets that this isn’t a thing. That _they_ aren’t a thing. Because in his entire life, he has never felt like this before, so raw and exposed. But he’s also never felt as safe as he does right now. David makes him feel so many things, desire chief among them. But he also makes Patrick feel brave. And safe. And so fucking free. 

Reality comes crashing down around them when the lights begin to flicker, and the spell is broken. Patrick feels like every thought he’s ever had about David is written on his face, projected in his eyes, so he ducks his head and mumbles something about getting right on fixing those lights first thing in the morning.

He may be imagining it, but he thinks he sees a flicker of disappointment on David’s face as they part ways to finish cleaning up the store. 

  
  


**5**

  
  


David is looking at him like he hung the moon, and Patrick’s stomach is doing all kinds of acrobatics. Over David’s shoulder, he watches as Stevie ducks out the front door of the cafe, her less-than-appetizing mozzarella sticks clutched tightly in one hand. All in all, Patrick has had worse first dates. 

That’s a lie. He’s never had a first date where his date didn’t _know_ it was a date. He’s already mentally beat himself up in the tiny, dingy, single-stall cafe bathroom, realizing that David had invited Stevie to join them because Patrick hadn’t exactly made his intentions clear. But that’s behind them now. Because now David knows. Patrick has laid his cards on the table—or, his receipts on the table, more accurately—and it’s up to David now, to see where this goes. They each pick up a mozzarella stick—both surprisingly soggy and crispy at the same time, which seems like it shouldn’t be possible—and tap them together before they dig in. Hot cheese gushes in his mouth, and flakes of freezer burnt crust crumble on his lips. He smiles across the table at David, who is making a face like he can’t believe he just put something so unsavoury in his mouth. There’s a crumb in the corner of David’s lip and Patrick wants to reach over, catch it with his thumb, and...what? Feed it to David? Suck it off his thumb into his own mouth? While he’s dithering over exactly how brazen he wants to be, David’s tongue darts out and captures the crumb. There. Problem solved.

Except it’s not. The problem is just beginning. Because David is sitting across from him looking so gorgeous and nervous and excited, and Patrick desperately wants to touch some part of him. Nothing racy. Maybe he could hold his hand, except their hands are coated in grease from the unappetizing appetizers. Or he could slide his foot under the table and run it up the back of David’s calf. But David is very particular about his clothes and the last thing Patrick wants to do is turn him off by getting his pants dirty. His problem is only exacerbated by the fact that he’s pretty sure if he allows himself to touch David, he won’t be able to stop. He’s been waiting so, so long and he wants him so, so badly. He doesn’t entirely trust himself not to launch himself across the table and right on to David’s lap. 

So he settles for smiling at David, and they talk. He doesn’t even remember what they talk about really, but David’s nerves seem to be settling which makes Patrick’s nerves start to settle. And things are going well. Good even. Possibly great. It's hard to tell, because Patrick has never been on a date where he was so invested in the outcome.

Dates with girls were always easy, because he didn’t really care where things ended up. Worst case scenario, Patrick would end up with a new friend. There was never really a best case scenario, because that would have meant sex with a girl, which always made him kind of anxious. He remembers David telling him about the anxiety he’d felt taking his driver’s test. Patrick can sympathize, because he realizes now, looking back, that that’s exactly how he felt on dates that were going well. It had always seemed so counterintuitive to him. Because wasn’t the end goal of the date to take things to the next step? The fact that the next step always made him feel a little bit sick to his stomach should have been a clue, he realizes now. But back then, without the benefit of hindsight, he’d just thought that something was terribly, terribly wrong with him.

He’s nervous now, picking at the burger he’s ordered, feeling a little bit ill. But it’s different now. It’s because he knows that for the first time in his life, he actually wants there to be a next step with David. Because he’s wildly, desperately, crazily attracted to David. And therein lies the source of his nerves. 

Patrick has always been a planner. He’d planned out tonight, from what he would wear to what he would order, to the present and the careful wrapping of the gift. He’s even planned a kiss. But as the end of their meal looms closer and closer, he feels himself losing his nerve.

He’d planned on kissing David outside of the cafe, beside his car. He thought maybe he’d offer David a ride home, like a gentleman. He’ll hold the door open for David, and just before he ducks into the front passenger seat, Patrick will put his hands on his waist—and it will definitely be his waist. Because Patrick has been thinking a lot about the way David’s broad shoulders taper into his slim waist and hips. He’s come so hard, concentrating on the perfect geometry of David’s body and decided that if he ever did get to kiss him, he would put his hands on that waist—and lean into him, tilting his head up and pressing a gentle kiss to David’s lips. Nothing flashy. Nothing fancy. No tongue. But now, as Twyla is coming over to their table carrying a chocolate cupcake and the cheque, he’s having doubts.

What if David doesn’t want to kiss him? What if he does want Patrick to kiss him, but not in public, in the middle of the main street in the centre of town? What if David turns his head because kissing Patrick isn’t what he wants, and Patrick ends up kissing his ear? God. It would be so awkward. Patrick isn’t sure he could handle it if David rejected him, and to have it happen so publicly? He’s going to have to rethink his whole plan now.

David blows out the candle on his cupcake and magnanimously cuts it in half, offering the smaller half (third really) to Patrick with a shy, pleased little smile. It cuts right through all of Patrick’s anxieties. He is definitely going to kiss David. Tonight. Just...maybe not right outside the cafe.

He pays for the dinner and holds the front door open for David, considering placing his hand at the small of his back as he passes. He would be so warm. And soft. But firm underneath it all. And Patrick’s brain goes offline for a moment, thinking about what it would be like, when David turns to him, his face mere inches away, their bodies parallel to one another on the front steps of the cafe. He could do it now. He’s going to do it now. He’s mesmerized by David’s dark eyes, so deep and inviting. And his lips...they’re moving and Patrick realizes he’s saying something. He gives his head a shake.

“Sorry, what?” he asks gracelessly, and David’s lips curl into a pursed little knot, his magnificent eyebrows coming together over eyes that look a little wary now. And no. That’s not...Patrick doesn’t want that. He needs to get his shit together, stay out of his head. Because he doesn’t want to be the reason David Rose makes that face ever again.

“I said thank you, Patrick,” David says, and he’s taking a step back, his fingers tugging at the rings on his other hand in a move Patrick recognizes as a nervous habit. “That was...that was the nicest birthday I’ve had in a very long time.”

“Well. You deserve it, David,” Patrick says. Because it’s true. David deserves nice things and to be treated well. He gets the sense that that has not always been the case.

“Mmm. Thousands of people would dare to disagree with you,” David demurs with a roll of his eyes that Patrick knows is meant to hide the pain behind those words. The gift bag containing the framed receipt rustles gently against his leg.

“Then those thousands of people would be wrong,” Patrick says, his words imbued with as much surety as he can muster. David’s eyes flit to his face and Patrick knows that this is his moment. He should definitely kiss David now. But then David’s shaking his head, like he can’t believe Patrick could possibly believe such a thing, and he’s turning in the direction of the motel and the moment is gone. “I’ll drive you home,” Patrick blurts out, causing David to pause in his tracks.

“Y-you don’t have to do that,” he says, but the corner of his mouth is tilting upward now, in the barest hint of a smile.

“I know I don’t, David. I would like to. I want to take you home.”

“Okay,” David says softly, and then they’re standing beside Patrick’s car. There’s this charged energy between them, and Patrick feels almost drunk with it. He reaches past David and opens the door, meeting David’s shy smile with one of his own. He could do it now. He could lean in and kiss him and then he’d have kissed a man. He’d have kissed David.

He doesn’t kiss David. He chickens out, gesturing instead with his hand to the front seat and taking the gift bag from David so he can get into the car unencumbered. He hands David the bag once his seatbelt is buckled and then he closes the door and makes his way around the front of his car, hoping he doesn’t look as disappointed as he feels. He doesn’t want David to think he’s disappointed in him, or in their date. Because David has been amazing. Beautiful. Gracious. It’s Patrick that can’t seem to pull himself together.

The drive to the motel is short and quiet. There’s a song playing on the radio that Patrick has heard before, but can’t quite put a name to. He smiles as David hums softly along to the lyrics, his eyes closed. When the song ends, he smiles at Patrick. “I love that song,” he says, his eyes lit up with a passion Patrick has only ever seen from David when talking about his wardrobe or one of his film goddesses. Or the store. _Their_ store. “Tina is an amazing songwriter. But that song in particular. It’s so beautiful, but no one knows because they never listen.”

Patrick nods his head, vowing to track down Tina Turner’s entire discography when he gets back to Ray’s. Because now that he knows how David feels about it, he needs to hear that song again. He wants to hear what David hears in the words. 

Before he knows it, he’s pulling the car into the spot in front of David’s room at the motel. Patrick puts the car in park and turns off the ignition. He’s pretty sure he’s lost his chance, because now that they’re here, David is going to get out of the car and their night will be over. 

But David _isn’t_ getting out of the car, is the thing. He’s thanking Patrick again for a lovely night, and they’re back in familiar territory, teasing each other. And then...oh God. Is David leaning in? The movement is so small, so subtle that Patrick isn’t entirely sure it’s real. But as always, David makes him feel brave. And he knows that if he lets this moment pass him by, he’s going to regret it for the rest of his life. So Patrick leans in, just a little. He lets his eyes dart down to look at the lips he’s been dreaming about for weeks. And David really is leaning in now, and his hand is on Patrick’s jaw, his fingers gently curling around the back of his neck and their lips touch and it’s _everything._ It’s everything Patrick has been hoping for, and so much more. It’s Christmas and New Year’s Eve and Canada Day and his birthday all rolled into one.

The moment seems to stretch forever, their lips moving softly, tentatively together. It’s chaste, but it makes Patrick’s whole body light up in a way that he’s always heard about in songs and movies. But it never seemed real before. Never seemed possible.

But David makes it possible. And Patrick is so grateful. He’s so grateful that he actually thanks David when the kiss is over. Because he needs David to know—to really, _really_ know—what that kiss meant to him. 

They say goodnight then, and Patrick waits until the door to David’s room closes behind him. Then he lets his head fall back and he smiles. He smiles so hard his cheeks hurt. He probably looks like an idiot, grinning like the Cheshire Cat at the roof of his car. But he doesn’t care. Because David kissed him. David touched him.

He’s halfway back to Ray’s when he realizes that David had done all the touching. He’d let the moment pass without laying a finger on him. And despite all his plans going out the window, he can’t really say that he minds.  
  
  


**+1**

  
  


“Thanks for shopping with us. Have a great day!” Patrick says, handing over the cloth tote to the woman who had come in looking for bath salts. She smiles in response.

“You too,” she says, and her eyes flick over to where David is still perched on the back table. And then she’s gone, and they’re alone again. Patrick slowly saunters over to David, who looks up with a smile that is somehow both shy and enticing at the same time. God, Patrick is in so much trouble with this man.

“So, um…in hindsight, I realize that actively discouraging people from shopping in our store may not be the best business strategy. But in my defence, I’ve had a very trying morning and you were doing a very good job of making me forget all that.” 

Patrick grins and steps forward to place himself in the inviting V between David’s knees, his hands finding their way back to his thighs, which feel so firm and strong under his palms. He can’t help imagining these long legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, pulling their bodies impossibly close. It’s not a new fantasy, but it’s one that Patrick finds himself thinking about more and more as he and David slowly begin to explore the shape of what’s happening between them.

David has been amazing. So patient, not demanding in the slightest. Which, Patrick wants to say he’s not surprised, but a part of him is. Because the David who is his friend and business partner is exacting and demanding and wants things his way _right now._ But the David who he is dating, who knows that this is all new to Patrick, has been nothing but gentlemanly.

But Patrick doesn’t want gentlemanly. Not anymore. He wants to feel wild and uninhibited. He wants to let his hands wander to parts of David’s body that he’s only dared to fantasize about. 

God, the things he would do to this man, if they only had a little privacy.

“Mmm...tell me,” David murmurs, and Patrick blinks a few times in quick succession. Had he...oh God. Had he said that out loud?

“Uh…”

“Tell me what you’d do to me, Patrick,” David purrs, walking his fingers up Patrick’s arms until they’re on his shoulders, squeezing gently, encouragingly. 

“I, um…” Patrick trails off. He can feel his cheeks burning. David’s eyes are soft and inquisitive, but there’s a heat there, like smouldering coals, ready to catch fire. He has to look away, because it’s too hot and Patrick doesn’t want to get burned. Not here, in the middle of their store where anyone passing by could see him set aflame by his desire for David.

“Hey. C’mere,” David says, and Patrick feels a warm hand on his cheek, gentle pressure bringing his gaze back to those fiery, dark eyes. “You don’t have to tell me. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Patrick sighs and leans forward, resting his forehead against David’s. “I am ready,” he says. Because he is. He’s so ready. “But, I don’t...I want it to be good for you. And I don’t know where to start.”

David’s thumb skims along Patrick’s cheek, catching on his light dusting of stubble. He leans into the touch like a cat and David’s eyes go impossibly soft.

“We could start at the beginning,” David suggests with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “I’m told it’s a very good place to start.” And he does a thing with his eyes, where one eye almost closes, and Patrick thinks it's supposed to be a wink. It’s adorable and endearing and Patrick laughs, feeling his nerves shake loose just a little. “Come with me.” David hops off the table and takes Patrick’s hand in his, pulling him into the room behind the cash register and pulling the curtain closed behind them. He walks backward until his back hits the far wall and pulls Patrick flush against his body, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders. “Now...I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s the best I can do on short notice.” He kisses the tip of Patrick’s nose, then smiles at him. “Tell me what you want, Patrick. Because I can guarantee that I want it just as much as you.”

Patrick doubts that. Because David is worldly and experienced, where Patrick has only ever had sex with people he now knows he wasn’t really attracted to. But then he thinks back to the day after their first kiss, when David had confessed that, while he was indeed experienced, he’d never been with anyone who really valued him. And that gives Patrick pause.

“Or, um...I could tell you? If you want. O-or not,” David is saying, looking a little nervous, like maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. And Patrick realizes that he’s done nothing to give David any indication that he’s on board for this, whatever this is. He shakes off his daze and smiles, putting his hands on David’s hips and letting the weight of his body press David tight against the wall. David hums in response, his eyes fluttering closed and a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Tell me, David,” Patrick pleads. And God, his voice is shaking. Because he suddenly realizes how much he needs to hear what David wants, what David thinks about when he thinks about the two of them together. 

David opens his eyes and their faces are so close, Patrick goes cross-eyed trying to gaze into the deep dark of his irises. He lowers his face to David’s neck instead, pressing his lips to the long column of his throat, breathing in the scents that he always associates with David. Sharp, clean citrus. Deep, unctuous, smokey leather. And under it all, the untarnished scent of David’s body mixed with the slight tang of sweat. Patrick thinks he’d like to stay here, close and safe and so utterly turned on, right at the epicentre of all that is David Rose.

He feels David’s arms wrap around his shoulders, his big hands rubbing soothingly up and down Patrick’s spine. “I think about your shoulders,” David whispers, and it’s not a surprise to Patrick. Because since that first morning after David’s birthday, David’s hands always seem to find their way to Patrick’s shoulders. Sometimes they’re little, fluttering touches. Other times, David wraps his fingers around the knob of Patrick’s shoulders and gives them a squeeze. And then there are times like right now, when it feels like David would wrap his entire body around Patrick’s shoulders, if he could. “You have really nice shoulders. Really strong. And I...I want to know what they look like, under your clothes. I want to touch them, I want my hands against your skin. Maybe even, um...maybe I’d even kiss them. And sometimes I want to...I want…” David trails off uncertainly.

“You want to what, David?” Patrick urges. “What do you want to do?” He feels David’s hands slide up his back, kneading at the meat where his neck and shoulders come together. 

“I want to bite them,” David breathes and Patrick’s whole body convulses in a shiver that runs from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. He closes his eyes and lets out a long, low groan into the supple skin of David’s neck. But then David is pushing at his shoulders, pushing Patrick away and he’s shaking his head. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. That...that wasn’t slow. Fuck. _Fuck!”_

“Hey. Hey, no. David, no,” Patrick soothes, wrapping his arms around David’s waist and pulling their bodies back together. He quiets David’s self-flagellating words with his lips, firm and grounding, and feels David’s body relax as he sinks into the kiss. 

“That wasn’t slow. I’m sorry,” David repeats, sounding chastened. And Patrick kisses him again, just a small, soft peck. 

“I’m glad that you told me. Because I would also very much like for you to do all the things you said. To me. Just now.”

David’s eyes search Patrick’s for a long moment before he lets out a relieved sigh. “Okay,” he breathes. And then he grins. “And, um, what part of me would you be interested in exploring more?” He asks with a playful shimmy that sets a swarm of butterflies loose in Patrick’s stomach 

“Your thighs,” he says without missing a beat. His ready response seems to surprise David, whose eyebrows climb so far up his forehead, they’re practically flush with his hairline. “Your entire legs, actually. You have very nice legs and I think about them a lot.”

David looks positively delighted by this news. “What, these old things?” he demures with a wry grin, raising one leg to wrap it around the back of Patrick’s thigh, and _oh God._ The movement brings David’s dick into perfect alignment with Patrick’s hip and...wow. He’s hard. David is hard. And Patrick’s body responds before his brain is even aware of what he’s doing, grinding his hips against David’s, feeling the hard line of David’s cock through layers and layers of fabric. 

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes, and David hitches his leg higher, pulling Patrick tighter against him, and Patrick gasps when their cocks align between them. He lets a hand slide down to the thigh wrapped around him, giving a gentle squeeze and revelling in how gloriously thick and firm and muscular it feels. 

David’s fingers explore Patrick’s shoulders, his neck. One hand slides up into his hair and tugs, earning a startled gasp as he pulls Patrick’s head just off to one side, his mouth latching on to the skin of Patrick’s neck, just above the collar of his blue button up. “Yes,” Patrick gasps as David’s lips and teeth find purchase on his skin, the prickle of his stubble sending little shudders of pain and pleasure rippling out to all the far flung reaches of his body, until his fingers and toes are tingling and his hips are rocking against David’s and nothing has ever felt so fucking good in his entire life.

“Patrick, fuck,” David breathes against the hot skin of his neck. “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard. You feel so good. You feel so fucking good.”

Patrick runs a trembling hand around to the front of David’s pants, his fingers twisting tentatively in the drawstring at his waist. “Can I?” he asks, and David nods frantically in reply.

“Yes. _Yes,_ Patrick. Please,” David breathes in his ear, and he sounds absolutely wrecked. He sounds as wrecked and desperate as Patrick feels, all anticipation and need and pure fucking _want._ It makes Patrick brave, knowing David wants this—wants _him._ He gets his hand down David’s pants, tucking his fingers under the wide band of his underwear. Barely daring to breathe, Patrick closes his fingers around David’s cock. It’s longer than he thought, thick and hard, and it feels like velvet in his hand. 

Using his thumb to tease at the drop of pre-come at David’s tip, Patrick begins to stroke him, tentatively at first. But then David is rolling his hips, pressing his erection into his fist, sucking at his neck, and making the most beautiful, obscene sounds in his ear. He gets a thigh between Patrick’s legs and then Patrick is rutting mindlessly against David’s leg, breathless and panting and stroking his cock and _Jesus._ He’s so close. He’s embarrassingly close. But David is too. He’s gripping Patrick’s shoulders and tugging at his hair and fucking into Patrick’s fist, all the while chanting in Patrick’s ear, “Please don’t stop. Don’t stop. Patrick.Don’t fucking stop”. 

So Patrick doesn’t. And he feels David’s body tense and he seems to gasp and moan in the same breath, then he whispers Patrick’s name. Patrick has just enough wherewithal to pull his face from where it’s been buried in David’s neck, because he needs to see David’s face the first time he makes him come. And it’s everything he knew it would be. David’s beautiful face contorts in a riot of pleasure as he lets go and comes in Patrick’s hand. 

“Oh my God,” David breathes, slumping back against the wall, unclenching his fingers and petting apologetically at Patrick’s shoulders. “Fuck. Oh my God, _Patrick,”_ he sighs, a sated smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Patrick pulls his hand from David’s pants, carefully cupping his hand so as not to drip any of his release onto their clothes. David grabs a tissue from a box on the shelf beside him and tucks it into Patrick’s hand. Then he glances down between their bodies, to Patrick’s cock, still trapped beneath far too many layers of tight, restrictive fabric. 

As Patrick wipes at his hand, David draws an enticing finger down the centre of his chest, coming to rest on the buckle of his belt. He raises an eager and inquisitive eyebrow, and Patrick nods his head frantically.

“Yes. God, David. Please.”

He tosses the tissue in the direction of the garbage can, then fixes his attention on David’s long, nimble fingers as they unfasten his belt, then pop the button on his jeans. He’s just grasping the little tag on the zipper of Patrick’s fly when they hear it: a voice that sounds suspiciously like Stevie's coming from the storefront. 

“Ding, ding!”

_Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to BWR for browbeating me into writing this (in the most loving and encouraging way possible of course), and to NeelyO and BWR for listening to me whine and cry and tantrum as I tried to weasel my way out of finishing. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are a gal’s best friend: they never go out of style and they go with absolutely everything! And if you feel like chatting about SC or these two silly boys, or life in general, come and say hi on Tumblr @delilah-mcmuffin or on Twitter @DelilahMcMuffin
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> D McM


End file.
